Guiding Light
by Maris Slytherin
Summary: Legolas' heart was broken when his young lover lost all memory of his past. Now he and Aragorn meet again to become part of the Fellowship, and Aragorn thinks that there is something familiar about this Elf... Rated PG-13 because of homosexual content. Ev
1. Default Chapter

Note: Hello to everyone! This is my first Lord of the Rings fic! All standard disclaimers and witty comments apply. ^^; At any rate, I began this fic quite some time ago. I will update whenever I have time, but it won't be very often, unfortunately. However, more comments and reviews will be rewarded with swifter updates! *grins* A warning, this most definitely contains slash, yaoi, shounen ai, homosexuality, gay stuff, or whatever other terms you prefer to use for this delightful genre of writing. You have been warned/enticed! ^_~  
  
The sun shone brightly on the forest of Mirkwood, the home of the fair- haired Elves, the archers. Towering trees surrounded the Elf-King's castle for miles around. It was at the base of one of these trees that a young human boy stood, peering up into the lower branches high above his head. About fourteen, his head was covered in thick, dark hair with a hint of curl, and his sharp, brown eyes were bright and lively.  
He cupped his hands around his lips and called upwards in the silvery language of the Elves, "Legolas! Legolas, I see your boot dangling there! You cannot hide from me, my friend. Come down from this tree!" He stood with his hands on his hips can gazed into the canopy above. In reply, a large nut from the tree whizzed by him and struck the ground a foot away. He grinned, "Come on, then! You're having fun with me, aren't you? You never miss a target, Legolas. Come down, I say!" Laughter cam from far above and the leaves rustled as a figure lightly jumped from branch to branch and, finally, to the forest floor.  
The Elf's skin was smooth, like ivory, and his pale flaxen hair hung to his back. He laughed again, and blue-gray eyes sparkled. "Impatience does not become you, Little One," Legolas murmured, amused.  
The human scowled. "I'm not little! I'm almost as tall as you are! Just because you're more than two thousand years old doesn't mean you have to rub it in."  
The Elf smiled. "Well, then, Large One..."  
"-Hey!"  
"...what did you wish me to come down for?" He pushed a lock of hair out of the other's face.  
The boy smiled proudly. "I wanted you to see how I've practiced. You will?"  
The other nodded, and his young companion fetched a bow and quiver from among the tree's roots. "Point my bow, my friend. What should be my target?" He grinned, "Perhaps the king's apple tree?"  
"Nay! My father would not like that. I shall keep you from trouble and point you there, to that cluster of leaves." Legolas pointed into the distance, smiling.  
The boy's chin set with determination. He could do it, but it would be difficult. Resolutely, he strung his bow and nocked his arrow, pulling back.  
"Left foot..." the watchful Elf murmured, and he adjusted his stance slightly. Aiming carefully, he let loose his arrow. A few moments later, a whoosh of leaves told him that he had made his mark. With a grin he turned to the other, only to find himself being drawn into strong arms. Gently he let go of the bow and allowed himself to be held, slipping his own arms around his lover's waist.  
"Perfect shot, my Little One. You have learned well."  
"Because of you, Legolas. You taught me." The Elf kissed his neck gently and the younger one shivered. Feather-light lips brushed against the nape of his neck, his jaw, his chin, his lips. He melted into the kiss and clenched the front of Legolas' shirt. "Mm. I like this... better... every time!" Legolas' tongue silenced him, teasing the inside of his mouth.  
Finally the two broke away for air. Legolas gazed at him and held his eyes with a seriousness that was usually not there. "I love thee. I am thine, keeper of my heart. I would stay with thee always, Estel, son of man, if thou wouldst permit it." The other's eyes widened, recognizing the Old Tongue and its significance. It took him no time to choose his response. Softly, he returned, "I love thee. I shall keep thy heart. I would have thee with me always, Legolas, Elfin prince, if thou wish it." He entwined their fingers shyly, then, and felt the Truth Magic of their statements flow through him. The Elf let out a small breath and his eyes shone. "For your love, then, I will play you a song. Listen, my Little One." Putting a flute of carved ivory to his lips, the prince began to play a slow melody filled with love and compassion... a promise of forever.  
  
One year later...  
  
Legolas stormed into his father's audience chamber. He dropped a swift, curt bow and angrily spoke, "I have just been informed that he has at last woken up and I am not to be allowed in!" His eyes narrowed. "Father, he's been unconscious for a fortnight! Why did you not tell me that he regained consciousness yesterday?"  
Not meeting his son' s eyes, King Thranduil opened his mouth to speak, but his fuming son continued.  
"We fought back to back in that battle! He took the poison arrow for me! I defended him and carried him to safety. I held him as he blacked out!"  
The king shook his head sadly as the crown prince continued.  
"You say I may not see him? I bid you, speak, Father, and explain!" He glared. He knew that it was forbidden to speak to one's Lord in such a manner, but thoughts of his dark-haired human lover replaced his care for court etiquette. The king remained silent. Legolas' fists clenched until, suddenly, a tear slipped down Thranduil's cheek. His father was weeping. The Elf knelt at his father's feet. "Father... I meant not to upset you. Forgive me, I beg of you, for my sharp tongue. But I pray you, tell me why I am to be refused the right to see him!"  
The King of Mirkwood gazed sorrowfully down at his Legolas and placed a gentle hand on his son's head. "My son, I do not weep because of you but for you. I am sorry."  
The prince paled. "He is not... he has not..."  
"Nay, good Legolas, he lives yet, and healthy as you or I in body. But his mind, my son, has suffered greatly - he remembers nothing!"  
Legolas leapt up in horror. "No. No! He cannot have!" Heart pounding, he ran down the length of the hall and out the ornately carved doors at the end. He dashed through the palace corridors and to a halt in front of the door to the room where his lover had lain. "Move aside," he hissed, and the guards dared not stop him. His hand shaking, he turned the handle and stepped into the room.  
Sunlight streamed in from the balcony, casting a natural light on the room. The richly wrought bed was neatly made and empty. The boy sat at a large white desk by the window and turned swiftly as he heard the door open. When he saw who it was, the human relaxed and smiled. "Hello!"  
He must know me, Legolas thought desperately as he fought to keep his face calm and his voice steady. "Hello, Little One."  
The other frowned. "I'm not so little as all that. I'm..." he paused. "Sixteen next month, I believe they told me. And you must be Prince Legolas, son of King Thranduil, crown prince of Mirkwood. An honor, your highness." He bowed low.  
The warm breeze entering through the open window did not seem to touch Legolas, whose heart had clenched as though a hand of ice had penetrated his chest. Never before had Estel spoken to him with such formality. It was true, then.  
"Aye. And you are...?" he asked politely, his heart breaking inside.  
"I am Aragorn, son of Arathorn, and heir of Ilsildur." His eyes filled with a pride that Legolas had never seen before, his shoulders thrown back with a self-importance that didn't fit his young body. A single tear trickled down Legolas' face as he turned away; he watched it explode on the tiles below. "Ah. Well, Aragorn, son of Arathorn, and heir of Ilsildur, farewell. I must depart." His eyes closed briefly in pain. "I am glad to have made your acquaintance." With a stiff nod, Legolas exited the room, ignoring the respectful bows of the guards outside. Minutes later, hoofbeats could be heard as Legolas fled from his sorrows, tears now streaming freely down his face. He did not see Aragorn again for many, many years. 


	2. The Council of Elrond

"Here, my friends, is the hobbit, Frodo son of Drogo. Few have ever come hither through greater peril or on an errand more urgent." Lord Elrond of Rivendell spoke to the company gathered there: A hobbit, a wizard, a man, dwarves, elves, and a Ranger. This Ranger, Legolas knew, was the renowned Ranger, Strider, also known to a few as Aragorn, son of Arathorn. Legolas only half listened as the council told their tales and rumors. Being both an Elf prince and friend to Gandalf the Gray, he had heard most of the tidings before. Instead, his clear eyes were fixed upon Aragorn.  
How he had changed! His thick, dark hair had lost most of its curl. How Legolas had doted on those springs! His face was long and drawn... the face of a man who had seen much but revealed little. Although clean-shaven, he somehow had an untamed look about him. His clothes, once garments of bright greens, earthy browns, and merry yellows, had been exchanged for the Ranger's garb of gray cloak, tunic, and leggings. Instead of soft, light leather shoes, his boots were thick and heavy. While it had lost its childlike slenderness and softness, the sturdy, hard, yet flexible body that Aragorn now possessed was, Legolas found, still wonderfully attractive.  
He felt his throat go dry and his pants tighten at the thoughts of his old lover, once a child, now a man, back in his arms. How would his lips taste now? Still sweet and soft and moist, or bittered with alcohol and tobacco? Would his voice be musical or had it turned into a gruff baritone?  
Suddenly, the Elf's thoughts were interrupted by an outburst by the loud stranger from Gondor, Boromir. Sighing, Legolas let his focus come back to the council and to the meeting at hand. He listened intently and watched the solitary Ranger for any reactions. None showed through.  
When Aragorn spoke at last, his voice was quiet and smooth, but powerful. His words were those of wisdom, and Legolas began to wonder what his Little One's life had been like.  
What has he been through? Legolas wondered. What have I missed? Do I know him anymore? Of course! Legolas cast out his last thought immediately.  
Finally, the meeting concluded. The small hobbit, Frodo, had been named the Ring-Bearer, and the rest of the Fellowship would be chosen the next day. Though stout of heart, surely, Legolas had doubts about the halfling's fighting skills. He is but a child, the Elf thought, who understands not the peril. Nor do any of us, in truth.  
Legolas barely glimpsed the Ranger slipping away from the meeting. He watched him go with a mix of apprehension and longing, then turned and he, too, left.  
  
Silently, Legolas stood upon a balcony of Elrond's house. Far below him, the sanctuary of Rivendell lay nestled in the gully, the waters of its river slipping silently down its path. The trees welcomed this strange Elf to their land, sensing that Green-Leaf of Mirkwood loved the forest and all that grew within. The sounds of night were strangely muffled in Rivendell, as if the creatures dared not disturb the sacred peace. He let the breeze tease his neck as his hair fluttered behind him. How soon this would all change, he knew. If chosen for the Fellowship, he expected that he would not be so at peace for quite some time. He lifted his face to the stars and closed his eyes, letting the presence of Rivendell comfort him.  
A soft step beside him interrupted his thoughts and caused Legolas to turn, then, and his heart to skip a beat.  
"Aragorn...!" he breathed. The Ranger raised an eyebrow. "You just surprised me, that's all," the Elf recovered. "Your skills are impressive. Few may approach an Elf without his knowing." He leaned lightly upon the railing and returned his eyes to the stars, although every other sense was focused on the man behind him. "What calls you to the starshine this night, o Strider?" Legolas tilted his head to one side, glancing back at Aragorn.  
Aragorn was silent for a moment. Then, quietly, "Prince Legolas. I wanted a word with you. Your face, it... it is familiar to me. And yet, we have met only briefly, once, years ago..."  
Legolas nodded. "Yes, I remember."  
The Ranger crossed his arms. "Your name, too, is familiar. My tongue protests your title, insisting that I call you Legolas." He shook his head and grasped the railing, letting his shoulders relax. "I am sorry. I do not know why I speak of such things."  
Legolas' heart thudded against his chest so loudly that he feared Aragorn would hear it. "I am not surprised that you would find my face familiar; many elves of Mirkwood look similar." The two stood in silence for a time. Finally, Legolas spoke. "You may call me Legolas if you so wish. Formality is a burden between two who would journey together. You do plan to be one of the Nine, Aragorn, do you not? I feel it in my heart that you will not be left behind. You seem protective of the halflings."  
Aragorn chuckled, "Yes. It is true that I have grown fond of them. You are perceptive, Legolas. We shall get along." He sighed and frowned in slight annoyance. "Unlike myself and the loud, arrogant Southerner, Boromir. But I see that he will not stay away, so I must learn to deal with him." Suddenly, Aragorn stopped and glanced sharply at Legolas. "Why do I share my thoughts and analyses with you, Elf? Why do I forget my guises?" He narrowed his eyes. "Is this Elf Magic that you weave around me?"  
Legolas laughed quietly and shook his head. "Nay, good Aragorn. I would not think to cast enchantment upon you. You have nothing to fear from me. I, too, intend to accompany the Ring-Bearer on his journey, and would not wish harm on a companion. Nay, naught but intentions of aid and support have entered my mind." He met Aragorn's gaze steadily. "Least of all to you, Aragorn, son of Arathorn, and heir of Ilsildur, who do intrigue me."  
The Ranger seemed amused by this. "I, my friend? Of all the queer folk who are gathered here, I intrigue you?" He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "I do have a roguish look about me, I suppose."  
The other nodded. "Your life is much a secret to me, and I wonder what it is you have been through," he spoke quietly. "Your weathered face shows much experience and knowledge... much hardship and little time for music and laughter. And yet, by the shine in your eye," he searched the other's gaze, "I know that you love both." Legolas became silent, and seemed to be lost in the stars above. In truth, he was holding his breath, awaiting his beloved's reply. For he was still very much in love with Aragorn, though, he knew, in a new way. Now they were equally experienced, though the younger man - by more than one thousand years - most likely thought of the apparently youthful Elf as being inexperienced and one more to take under his protection. Yet Legolas had a feeling that his love would, in fact, know the land better and serve as a strong shoulder for the entire Fellowship to lean upon. "Estel..." he whispered.  
The Elf became aware of Aragorn's hand on his shoulder. "Estel," Aragorn repeated softly, not recognizing his childhood nickname. "Hope. Yes, we need hope, Legolas. We need hope and heart and music and light." The man locked eyes with him. "Will you be this for the Fellowship and its members?"  
Legolas was surprised. "I? Elves are naturally optimistic and full of music, but you surprise me. The heart and light, Aragorn? What tells you to ask this of me?"  
In the dark, Legolas could not be sure if a blush had risen in the other's face or if it was merely the chill of night that had pinkened his cheeks ever so slightly. Inside, the Elf was amazed. Only he, as the lover of the child Aragorn once was, could cause him to blush. Had his old nickname, Estel, caused him any emotion? Had he yet remembered anything?  
Aragorn was quiet a moment. "You are one, I can tell, who has the ability to comfort and to give hope to others. In this way, you shall be the heart of our group. And I cannot say why I called you the light, for I know it not myself. Only because it seemed right, with the starlight on your hair. Like a beacon, I feel you will guide our hearts, if not our feet." He turned away, then spun around and grabbed Legolas' arms. He spoke quietly, but rapidly. "I know you. I don't know from where, I don't know how, but I know you from somewhere, damnit! I need to know! Tell me, Legolas," his eyes burned, "tell me how it is that I know you."  
Man's and Elf's eyes locked, one's burning with the need for knowledge, the other's wide and full of... something. Sorrow? Pain? Finally, Aragorn tore his eyes away, dropping his hands to his sides. He turned away. "You will not tell me." His hands were clenched tightly.  
Legolas spoke, barely above a whisper. "I cannot. I would that my tongue were working, so that I could relieve your pain... and my own." Aragorn's shoulders shook, but no sound came from him. Legolas had to stop himself from running to his side, from enfolding the man in his arms, from kissing away the silent tears that he knew were coursing down Aragorn's face, hidden in the darkness.  
Instead, he turned from the man and said sadly, "Aragorn, son of Arathorn, you still have much yet to do. Perhaps, one day, I will tell you of things that have been. But for now, go to your chambers and sleep, Little One. The need for strength is great." And with that, Legolas disappeared into the darkness.  
Unseen, he sprinted lightly to a tall tree that grew outside Aragorn's window. Leaping quickly to the top, he lay on a limb and peered into the chamber, waiting for his lover's return. He could not bear to sleep without seeing his love once more that night. After what seemed like an eternity, the Elf's sharp eyes caught the movement of the doorhandle turning slowly. He smiled softly as Aragorn stepped into the room, but turned cold a moment later. The Lady Arwen was with him. Arwen was the supposed Evenstar of the Elves, the dark haired beauty, the daughter of Elrond. He felt his hands clench into fists. She was also, the Prince of Mirkwood knew, a great temptress, by foul means as well as fair. She chose a man or Elf that she found attractive and convinced him to love her. Once, though, he remembered clearly, she had attempted her tricks with her equal. He knew that his slap continued to sting her pride, though surely no mark remained on her flawless face. She hated him, now, with a passion greater even that that which he had refused. Despite his elfin hearing, he could catch none of the murmured words from within. His eyes, however, now cold, followed every movement inside the room.  
Aragorn had seated himself on his bed, and Arwen stood beside him. Her lips moved softly, seductively, but Aragorn shook his head, eyes fixed upon the floor. He showed no traces of his tears, but he looked tired. She knows he's not on his guard against her charms, the hidden Elf thought to himself. He swore in Elvish as she sat beside the man and caressed his face. Too emotionally exhausted to resist, Aragorn leaned against her and, her face hidden from the weary man, she smiled triumphantly.  
Suddenly Legolas focused intently upon her lips. There! He saw it; they were moving ever so slightly, but rapidly and with meaning. Knowing a spell when he saw one, his eyes flashed and he motioned with his hand. At a few sharply whispered words, he saw Arwen gasp and draw back from Aragorn. Her eyes flickered to where Legolas crouched outside, and he made an obscene gesture towards her, knowing full well that her Elfin eyes could see him perfectly. She hissed, and her face contorted into a barely contained mask of fury. Legolas smiled coldly at the temptress as he withdrew back into the shadows and down the tree. She would not try again. At least, he thought minutes later as he slid between his cool sheets, not tonight.  
  
Author's Note: Alright, more to come, hopefully. The more reviews I get the more inclined I will be to add to the story, and sooner! Just a note, I am not going exactly by the book, and am almost completely ignoring the movie, as much as I love it. In this fic, Aragorn was not raised in the house of Elrond but in the house of Thranduil. Thus, Arwen is not his adopted sister, although he knows her from the times he has spent at Rivendell. He has trained both with the Elves of Rivendell and those of Mirkwood, but Legolas has avoided meeting with him at all. Any questions, comments, complaints, suggestions, praise, or flames can be sent to MarisSlytherin@hotmail.com. Thanks! P.S. Check out my other work(s), too! 


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